


A Faint Glimmer

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Demisexuality, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:26:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: Will is demisexual, and his brain won't give him a break. His attraction to Hannibal just causes him anxiety. But you know how Hannibal is...





	A Faint Glimmer

Will didn’t recognize this room. Overflowing boxes and haphazardly-stacked clutter surrounded the king-size bed he reclined on. Dust motes floated in the languid afternoon light coming through the faded curtains. On the bed was a chocolate-brown chenille bedspread, slightly mussed. Though unsure of anything else, Will was certain that he had come here to have sex. There was no one else in the room, and he didn’t know who should be, or soon would be, in the room, but he must have come here for sex, because he was so intensely aroused, he could barely string two thoughts together. His dick was diamond-hard and throbbing powerfully. His balls ached with the need to be emptied. He needed a fuck very badly. He decided to leave this room and search whatever place this was for someone with whom he could relieve his pulsating need.

In the living room and kitchen, he found crowds of people. There was a subdued gathering going on in this house. But there was someone here, he just knew, someone who was waiting for him to find them, so they could go back to that room and fuck noisily and with abandon. He wanted that so desperately. Every second he had to wait for it was agony. But he was also mortifyingly aware that other people at this party might be aware that he was frantically trying to find someone with whom he could seek out a private place to hump and fuck and shoot his load.

Then, the feeling began to dissipate. He reached for it, tried to cling to it, but the more he tried, the more distant it became. Eventually, Will realized that he was awake, in his own bed, and it was morning. Just before he became fully conscious, he thought that he should jerk off, to release all the sexual tension he felt, but then he was aware that his dick was soft, and he felt no arousal whosoever.

As ridiculous as that raging horniness now seemed, it had felt so real in his dream. More than real, even, for never in his waking life had Will experienced a desperation for sex that was anywhere close to what he’d felt in that strange house.

Will crunched listlessly through a bowl of cereal, thinking about whether or not he wished to have desires that intense in real life. On one hand, he was thankful that he seldom experienced attraction to other people. It saved so much time, to not be concerned with finding someone to go to bed with. And not needing to surround the inclination for sex with a respectable and committed relationship, as he would, meant he had no one to worry about but himself.

On the other hand, he sometimes felt an emptiness that he knew could only be filled by intimacy. When he saw a couple kissing in public, he wondered what that must feel like, to desire a person so much that you wanted to do things like put your mouth on theirs, and spend your life with them.

He knew he _could_ enjoy sex. It had happened, once or twice. But that was just it – it had _happened_ to him, he was never able to _make_ it happen. Craving effortless, satisfying intimacy did not make it easier for him to achieve it.

Those few people whom Will had felt inclined to touch and kiss and have sex with weren’t around anymore. They had made their excuses and left his life, and the frustration of occasionally finding someone new that he pursued intimacy with, only to be rejected by them, had deadened Will inside over the years. Each time the faint glimmer of his sexual desire was thwarted, his belief that it was still something worth seeking weakened, and his thoughts on the matter became more pragmatic. For example, if he ever actually did find a partner, someone he could get close enough to that a thrill would run through him, he’d probably have to start having breakfast options better than cereal, for when they stayed over. And probably move the bed up to the actual bedroom.

 _Imagine if it was Hannibal, though._ The thought popped into his head, and he tried to forget it just as quickly, without success. Yes, it would be nice to wake in the morning to the smell of a delicious breakfast being prepared by such a talented cook, but there was no use dwelling on something that wasn’t going to happen.

Will tried to think about Hannibal as little as possible. As soon as he had felt a genuine connection with Hannibal – that is, as soon as he’d realized that Hannibal wanted to understand him, _enjoyed_ understanding him – Will began to feel a physical attraction as well. He remembered the moment it happened: he said something to Hannibal during one of their conversations, and whatever Hannibal said in response, Will missed it, having been distracted by the thought of what Hannibal’s body might look like underneath those tailored suits he wore.

But Will was no fool: he harbored no illusions that someone like him, a mess of a human being with too many dogs and not enough culture, could ever be considered a suitable partner by someone like Hannibal. Sure, Hannibal was interested in his mind, his empathy – what psychiatrist wouldn’t be? But he was a professional, and Will never dared interpret his interest as anything other than what it was: clinical.

 

***

 

Hannibal’s clinical, professional interest sometimes made Will uncomfortable; questions about his past, his childhood – things that Will had gone over in his mind incessantly over the years – rankled him. He was bored with the subject of his childhood, bored with telling it. He was here because he wanted help with what he was dealing with _now_ , and he found it hard to believe that Hannibal needed to know about his parents, his upbringing, in order to provide this help.

More than at any other time, when the subject of his youth came up, Will felt the inclination to answer Hannibal’s question with a question. When he did, not only did he not have to talk about his past, he did not have to focus on talking at all. He could just look at Hannibal, while Hannibal waxed poetic, and think about him. He could ponder whether he could ever get truly excited for Hannibal. If they had sex, would it be different? A part of Will wanted to just come right out and say something, just suggest they try going to bed together, so he could satisfy his curiosity once and for all. But mostly, he just wanted to go home and think about Hannibal while he jerked off, which would be safe, and simple, and not at all disruptive to his life or psyche.

Once, while he was entertaining these thoughts, he noticed Hannibal looking at him expectantly, which is when he realized that it was had been turn to speak for a while. He apologized for being distracted. He was afraid that Hannibal would say something more about it, and as he waited to be confronted about his inattention, his anxiety grew. When their session was over, the armpits of his shirt were soaked through, but he seemed to have escaped further scrutiny. Hannibal rose to show him out, as always. Will had his hand on the doorknob when Hannibal said, “Perhaps next week we could forego our routine and instead meet at my house, for dinner?”

Will’s mouth was dry, and he had to work to get the words right. “Ah, that’s…not very, professional? Is it?”

“And that would matter, if you were my patient,” Hannibal said coolly, looking Will up and down. “But we’re just having conversations, are we not?”

“I suppose we are.” Oh God, he knew what Will had been thinking about. He knew. He knew.

Will could have contradicted Hannibal instead. He could have refused Hannibal’s invitation. But he didn’t. He wanted to see where this went.

 

***

 

Will had been Hannibal’s dinner guest before. He’d watched Hannibal cook, been served food by him, observed him carefully so he could imitate how Hannibal handled his utensils and drank his wine. This was not the first time that their dinner conversation sounded like a therapy session, nor was it the first time that the dim light and quiet solitude made Will feel like he and Hannibal were the only two people in the world.

This evening, however, was the first time Hannibal had nudged his wine glass aside after the meal was over, so that he could put his hand over Will’s and clasp it lightly. As smooth and delicate as this gesture was, it was not subtle. And just like with the invitation the week before, Will felt certain that he could withdraw his hand, and the matter would be closed.

Part of him wanted to do that, to say no, and save them both the frustration of Will’s fickle libido. But the fact that another person had just touched him with affection and he hadn’t reflexively been repulsed was significant. That Will’s attraction to Hannibal’s strange, strong features, the connection he felt between them, that all of that had not vanished when Hannibal actually initiated intimacy, hinted to Will that perhaps this would be one of those rare times. One of those rare, wonderful, warm, blissful times.

And even if it didn’t turn out great, it probably wouldn’t be a disaster, and he was willing to pursue something that was not great if it meant he could achieve a higher level of intimacy with Hannibal. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d compromised that way.

Will turned his hand over beneath Hannibal’s, so he could give it a soft squeeze in return, to indicate that the interest was mutual. Hannibal smiled, and slowly took his hand away, so that he could rise from the table. Will stood, too, and helped Hannibal take the dishes to the kitchen. Anyone else would have dumped them in the sink to worry about later, and headed for the bedroom, but Hannibal methodically washed them, then handed them to Will to dry. As tense with anticipation as this was, it was also its own kind of strange, pleasant intimacy. Only when the task was finished to Hannibal’s satisfaction did he take Will’s hand and lead him upstairs.

After that, it was a matter of minutes before Will decided he’d made a mistake – specifically, the mistake he always made, of thinking that “this time would be different.” Hannibal unbuttoned his own shirt, maintaining eye contact the whole time, then moved to help Will out of his, and Will couldn’t help the self-defeating wave of despondency that engulfed him when this tender gesture failed to excite him immediately. He didn’t feel aroused now, he probably wouldn’t feel aroused when Hannibal had taken all their clothes off, so why bother trying?

But he did not put a stop to things. At least, not yet. He’d been a fool to think this time would be different, but he wanted so _badly_ for it to be different. He just wanted to be normal. Why he thought Doctor Lecter, of all people, would be the one to make him feel normal, he didn’t know, but his frustration at his unfulfilled desire-to-feel-desire distracted him, caused him to leave his body for a while, lost in anxiety. When he came back to himself, he found that he and Hannibal had divested themselves, or possibly one another, of their clothing, and stood before each other in their endearingly vulnerable naked human bodies, and then there was a glimmer of hope. Hannibal was just as gorgeous as Will had imagined, and appeared content with what he was seeing, as well.

Hannibal closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Will and pressing their bodies together. Hannibal was warm, his skin tantalizingly soft over slabs of hard muscle. He was so powerful, and Will began to get excited at the thought of it. This feeling was thwarted almost immediately, however, as Hannibal slid his hands around Will’s waist and down over his spine, to cup his behind. The pressure to respond with instant eagerness and lust, to smoothly and naturally reciprocate, spoiled any possibility of it happening.

Will moved mechanically from then on, dutifully slipping under the covers with Hannibal, lying in his arms, accepting his kisses. Even though he was attracted to Hannibal, he remembered all the times that someone he hadn’t been attracted to had kissed him, and how it had felt like being suffocated. Why were the bad memories so much more powerful than the present moment? He only knew that he was powerless to change it. He could see, objectively, that Hannibal was skillful with his hands, fluid and dexterous, but he could not truly feel it or appreciate it through his anxiety. His limbs stiffened under Hannibal’s touch, and Hannibal felt it. Drawing back slowly, he asked, “Is everything alright?”

“It’s good,” Will said, too fast and too high to be believed by anyone. Hannibal’s hand slid down and cupped Will’s penis, which was still soft, despite Hannibal’s efforts. “I’m sorry,” Will muttered. “I want this, I really do. I just find it hard to relax.”

“We can stop all proceedings at any time, you only need to say so,” Hannibal assured him. “But I’m afraid what we’ve been doing has gotten me into a state. I hope it will be alright with you if I see to myself?”

Will wouldn’t have guessed that Hannibal would have given up so easily, and resorted to seeking his own pleasure, but it was nothing Will hadn’t experienced before, letting the other person have a good time even if he couldn’t.  “Sure, that’s fine,” he said. “You go ahead and do your thing, whatever you need.”

Hannibal scooted down so that he was laying properly alongside Will. He pressed his face into the crook of Will’s neck, and held his cock around the base to rub it over the smooth skin of Will’s hip. Settling in, he sighed deeply, and as he became more excited, he uttered soft growls with each exhalation. For a while, he let go of his cock, and instead used his free hand to feel Will’s skin wherever he could reach it, up and down his chest and belly, caressing his flanks, squeezing his thighs and biceps. His breaths became more and more rapid, and labored. He grew bolder, lifting his head from Will’s shoulder and nudging Will’s arm up, so he could stick his face right in Will’s armpit. Now he whimpered and panted, grabbing his cock and stroking it as he sniffed at Will – but not too fast. He was drawing it out.

Will could not believe what was being done to him. He had expected, based on past experience, that Hannibal would just jerk himself off, get this awkward encounter over with as fast as possible, come on Will’s belly or thigh, and then that would be the end of it. But Hannibal was acting like Will’s whole body was a delicacy, meant for savoring. He was practically rolling around in Will, lost in indulging himself, and seemed to be expending no effort for Will’s sake; everything he did was for himself and his own pleasure. Will didn’t have to do anything, he didn’t have to react to anything. There was no pressure, no scrutiny.

And Will suddenly realized that he had never been so aroused in his life. Being the object of such intense desire, being worshipped by this man who could not contain his lust, was staggering. As Hannibal obliviously sniffed and groped him, just for the enjoyment of doing it, expecting no result or reciprocation, Will’s cock began to stir. When Hannibal’s fingers dragged over a nipple, just incidentally, on the way down his chest, Will ached for that hand to return, for that stimulation to be prolonged, where before he’d felt nothing, only able to worry that his partner’s efforts were not getting him hard and ready for sex quickly enough.

He waited for Hannibal’s hand to slide back up, to touch him again the way he wanted, and when it didn’t, not fast enough, he grabbed Hannibal’s wrist and put the hand back. Hannibal said nothing, he did not act smug or vindicated, he just gently pinched Will’s nipple between his first and second fingers, and Will breathed, “Yes.”

Hannibal continued to take his own selfish pleasure with the same intensity. He rubbed himself against Will’s body, though he moved his head again so he could latch on to Will’s other nipple, rolling it between his lips. He moved his free hand down to lightly caress Will’s cock, which prompted Will to say “Yes,” again and again, so badly did he need to be touched. Hannibal gave Will nothing but his fingertips, though, until Will begged, “Please, I need to come.”

“Of course you do,” Hannibal murmured, and grabbed Will’s hip, pulling at him until he was on his side and they were facing each other. He tilted his pelvis and brought Will’s cock against his own, so they could rub together. Once they had a rhythm going, Hannibal looked up, so that he and Will were eye to eye, and Will gave in to a sudden urge to dive in for a kiss. Sloppy and open-mouthed, the kissing made his whole body tingle, made his dick harder and his balls draw up. He felt good and hot all over, and moaned into Hannibal’s mouth, whining with pent-up longing, pushing against Hannibal harder and faster, until at last he was overcome by a rush of blind, pulsing ecstasy. His mouth went slack with gasps and groans as arrows of hot visceral joy shot from his core to every extremity. The space between their bellies grew slick, even more so when Hannibal crushed Will still closer to him and followed him over the precipice.

Will’s white-hot bliss began to dissipate, but the depth of Hannibal’s attentions and the intensity of his climax could not be shrugged off. A rush of pure, naked gratitude engulfed him, and tears welled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. “Oh my god,” he said. “I’ve never felt that way before. It’s never been good like that.” Robbed of all shame or reticence, he shook in Hannibal’s arms and sobbed, “It’s never been good like that before. I didn’t know it could be like that.”

Hannibal held Will tight, saying nothing as Will’s tears poured over his throat and collarbones. He caressed Will with long strokes down his back, happy to comfort him until the convulsive sobs subsided.

Drained of all energy, all thought, all unpleasant memory, Will hovered at the edge of consciousness, ready to drift to sleep in Hannibal’s embrace. But he knew they were a mess, and should not fall asleep as they were. He asked Hannibal to take him to the shower, uncertain if he could get there of his own volition. Hannibal lifted him from the bed and to his feet.

Will’s weak knees threatened to give. He laughed at himself; he was acting like someone who had just been thoroughly sexually satiated, and it was exhilarating.

“Can we do this again sometime,” Will said hoarsely, as they hobbled together towards the bathroom.

“I would love to.”

Will giggled some more. “You need to be careful, though. If you get me used to this, you’ll turn me into a horny, insatiable sex-beast.”

“I have dreamed of it,” Hannibal said.

 


End file.
